


this is my imagination

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Crush at First Sight, Kissing, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 21:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15693708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: bernie has a microphone on his forearm and pearl can sing. pearl has binary code and bernie would rather not think that hard about it. sometimes you find the one you never wanted to look for and it all works out anyway.





	this is my imagination

The microphone emblazoned on Bernie’s forearm has been there as long he can remember.

There are few pictures of him from childhood, his parents too busy strung out on the couch to think about keeping up with family memories. Bernie takes none of it with him when he leaves home with two battered but working laptops in his bag and a very distinct dream laid out in front of him. His friends have couches to crash on and the music shop in the city that he frequents employs him and doesn’t ask when he sets his laptop up on the desk. He has good rapport with their frequent customers and he charms newbies into coming back time and time again.

The tattoo is larger and not easily hidden, so he stops trying. No one questions a music-related tattoo of someone who works in a place like this; no one acts like the tattoo is a soulmate mark because they have no reason to think so. The microphone takes up most of his forearm, the cord curling around his wrist and fading away on the back of his hand. When he was younger, he loathed it for its size. Now, he hardly pays attention to it.

A microphone could mean anything, and Bernie refuses to get his hopes up.

When  _ he _ first walks into the shop, though, Bernie lifts his eyes from the screen, then sits up and takes notice. With a head of flyaway platinum hair and a face that could make angels cry he catches Bernie’s discerning eye in seconds, all kinds of handsome wrapped up in the kind of vibe that usually makes Bernie back off. He looks like the type, loud drunks in the club who have their hands everywhere before they even bother to learn Bernie’s name.

He might be getting a touch desperate if he’s willing to acknowledge all of that and admit to himself that something about the man draws his attention. In typical fashion, he flashes him the widest smile he can once he’s within comfortable speaking distance. “Welcome to our shop! Let me know if there’s anything I can help you find.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll let you know.” Beautifully full lips split into a smile that threatens to take Bernie’s breath away and he tries not to think too hard about that.

When it comes to men, Bernie has no particular taste or favorite; all men in all shapes and sizes tend to catch his eye, but something about this one keeps drawing his eyes from the screen of his laptop. He’s used to customers drawing his attention more than they should, more often than not the ones who try to slip CDs into their pockets and walk out the door with them. Usually, Bernie lets them go because he remembers what it was like to have no money and this shop is in a decent part of the city, so they make plenty off of the rich kids with cash to spare.

He gets no such vibe from this man, who gravitates toward the rap and hip hop section, thumbing through the albums like he knows the place. Bernie chews on his lower lip quietly and then gazes back at his screen once more, a slow smirk spreading across his lips as the percentage on his encryption finally climbs all the way to one hundred.

When the man comes up to the desk and sets a stack of CDs down on top of it, Bernie closes his laptop. “When do you guys normally get your new shit in?”

“I mean we stock most of the week but these genres come in heavy on Fridays.” Bernie scans them rapid fire, slotting them into a bag as he goes.

The man hums, drumming his fingers on the counter. “I’ll have to swing by every week.”

“Any favorites? I can set them aside for you.” Bernie is not technically supposed to do that, but the shop owner would never know the difference and as long as they make the sales and the money, that’s all that matters.

His words earn him another one of those brilliant smiles, all dazzling white teeth. “That’d be great! Got a pen and paper? I’ll make out a quick list for you.”

Bernie passes him a notepad behind the desk and slaps a pen on top while the man passes him a stack of bills that feel too crisp between his fingers. He processes the transaction and watches the man write, the pen moving across the page quickly and spilling out a scrawl of handwriting that is barely legible, but Bernie will manage. He hands the man his bag of music and offers him a smile as he takes the list, tucking it away where he knows he can find it.

“I’m Pearl, by the way.” The man— Pearl— grins, swinging the bag in his hand.

“Bernie. It’s nice to meet you.” Bernie bows his head a little, trying not to let anything show on his face. But this man is  _ cute _ , especially up this close. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

Pearl pauses in front of the desk and Bernie waits, knowing he has more to say. “That thing around your wrist, is that a tattoo?”

_ Of course. _ Bernie rolls up the sleeve of his jacket, the harsh white lights above making the tattoo shine. It always has, like the ink is new and the artwork is fresh even though he’s had it his entire life. Pearl whistles and, without asking, runs his fingers over the microphone, following the cord down to where it curls around Bernie’s wrist. The touch makes Bernie shiver all over but he doesn’t yank his arm back or smack Pearl’s arm away.

“That’s rad as hell, man. You like music?” Pearl asks.

_ Music. He doesn’t know what it is, then. _ “I  _ love _ music. I spend my free time as a DJ.” The job was a point of pride for Bernie, more than this retail job could ever be.

“Oh yeah? That’s  _ awesome _ . We should collab sometime.” Pearl winks at him and takes a step back, most likely on his way out the door.

Bernie should let it go, really he should, but Pearl is hot and he’s thirsty. “Collab? You DJ, too?”

“Nah, not in a million years. Don’t have the skill but I think it’s amazing.” Pearl raises a hand to his mouth, fingers half-curled like he’s holding something. “I rap.”

Something like a microphone.

Bernie is in cashier mode so the shock that curls through his gut doesn’t show on his face; he’s perfectly polite to a fault. “That’s great! Guess we’ll have to for sure, then.”

_ It’s just a coincidence. Fate and destiny don’t exist anyway, and soulmates aren’t real. _

* * *

The next time Pearl comes in it’s with another man, older with his hair in tight braids that make Bernie’s lips twist at the corners just slightly. The two of them lean close together as they talk, clearly deep in conversation about something, but Bernie offers Pearl a little wave just the same and tries not to beam when Pearl flashes him a smile and a peace sign in return. His hair is styled up away from his face and there’s a bandanna tied around his head, a deep red that makes the color of his hair all the more startling. He’s  _ beautiful. _

Maybe Bernie has a tiny crush. Just a tiny one. Soulmates don’t have to be real for him to be staring at Pearl’s mouth and thinking about how it’s made for all kinds of sinful things.

The two navigate the store together so closely that Bernie feels his mouth turning down at the corners and sighs, going back to his laptop. Of  _ course _ Pearl would have a boyfriend with as attractive as he is. The fact the man is clearly so much older than him is besides the point; he has a little airhead quality to him that would attract older men, anyway.

“Bern!” Pearl slaps his hands down on the desk so hard Bernie jumps; Pearl is smiling broad at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I want you to meet my best dude. This is 9.”

“Like the number?” Bernie asks, his eyes sliding to where the man stands at Pearl’s side.

9 nods at him, mouth twisting in a half-smirk. “Like the number. Pearl said your name’s Bernie.”

“That would be correct. Resident music expert here to help you with all of your needs.” Bernie turns over the words  _ my best dude _ in his head and tries to determine if Pearl would be the kind of guy to introduce his partner like that. “Nice ink, man.”

9 has more tattoos than Bernie can count, a dizzying array of ink across his skin; there would be no way to tell if any of them were there when he was born. He grins, pulls up his sleeves to show off more, and there looks like there’s ink on his neck, too. Bernie whistles, suitably impressed, and wonders if Pearl has any tattoos of his own. By choice or by design, though Bernie doesn’t think he wants to know if Pearl has a soulmate tattoo of his own. It always feels weird going after a guy with one; Bernie hardly believes in it but so many people do and he never likes to feel like a convenient way to pass some time.

“Bernie has a tattoo, too!” Without hesitation, Pearl grips Bernie by the wrist and half-drags him over the desk, pushing his sleeve up. “Check this out, man. I knew you’d appreciate it.”

Bernie presses his lips together. “I don’t think I said you can manhandle me.”

When Pearl’s head swings around in his direction, their faces are dangerously close together; it lets Bernie see his concerned puppy eyes up close. “Oh. Shit, I’m sorry, I’m—”

“It’s fine,” Bernie says quickly. “I don’t really mind.”

9 leans over to look at the tattoo properly, and Bernie’s a little less enthused about that. “Is this your soulmate mark or something? ‘Cause that’s what it looks like.”

_ Fuck! _

“Your boyfriend’s perceptive,” Bernie tells Pearl dryly.

The comment has 9 snorting as he leans back, shaking his head, waving a hand. “No, no, we’re not. I’m not his boyfriend. We’re just friends. So that  _ is _ what that is. Thought so. It’s got that new ink look to it but it doesn’t look red or raw or shit like it was actually new.”

“There’s a difference?” Pearl asks, adorably dumb.

“Yeah, man, like, look at yours.” 9’s hand closes around Pearl’s wrist and  _ maybe _ they aren’t dating but that touch is so familiar and Bernie is just a little bit jealous right now. Then 9 is pushing the sleeve of Pearl’s obnoxious yellow jacket all the way up his forearm, and Bernie maybe swoons a little at the muscles and veins he can  _ see _ before he fully processes the tattoo on Pearl’s skin. A series of zeroes and ones. “See? Looks new, not like all of mine.”

Bernie feels the inside of his mouth go dry; he doesn’t know binary well enough to be able to read it right off of Pearl’s skin, but he recognizes it well enough. “Binary code?”

“Is that what this is? Shit, dude, I haven’t known what the hell it’s supposed to be for years. But also, I never asked.” Pearl laughs, high-pitched and sharp, like this is the funniest thing in the world. Bernie supposes this is fair. “What’s it even supposed to  _ mean? _ ”

“You can translate it into words, usually.” Bernie hopes, beyond hope, that he happens to be wrong. “If you want, I can try my hand at it. I love computers.”

Pearl looks at his laptop. “So you ain’t just watching porn on that?”

Jesus Christ. “ _ No. _ I’m a  _ hacker _ . Now, do you want me to translate your tattoo or not?”

“That’d be great, homie. Ain’t like I’m going to be able to figure it out on my own.” Pearl lays his arm out on the desk and Bernie makes a big show of having to physically touch him, turning his arm this way and that as he pulls out his notepad to write down the exact configuration. The muscles feel just as good as he thought, and Pearl has nice skin, at that.

9 rolls his eyes. “Thought you didn’t give a shit about that tattoo, my man?”

“Not saying I  _ do _ but it’s still, like, it’s been all my damn life. I think I deserve to know.” Pearl sticks his tongue out at him and 9 mimes cutting it off; Bernie shakes his head at the two of them. “You really think you can figure it out, Bern?”

Bernie caps his pen and folds up the note paper, tucking it into his back pocket. “Probably. It might take some time but you’ll be back next week, right? I might be done by then.”

“You’re the  _ best. _ ” Pearl plants his hands on the desk again. “Did you, uh…”

The stack of CDs is on the desk in an instant. “‘Course I did. Don’t tell anyone.”

9 slaps Pearl on the shoulder. “You’re forgetting something, idiot.”

“Oh, right! I did almost forget.” Pearl leans over the desk once more and Bernie lets him. “There’s a party tomorrow night if you’re not busy, at a club near here. We’re gonna be onstage and they said we could bring our own DJ if we wanted. You wanna swing by? Might be weird to feel shit out in public but we can freestyle so you can play whatever you want.”

Bernie should probably, at least, pretend to think about it to keep up appearances, but he doesn’t. “Hell yeah. Give me the address and I’m there.”

They exchange far too many notes in this shop, Bernie thinks, when he adds the address to the binary code in his back pocket. He rings up their purchases and sends them on their way once more, his hand rubbing over his microphone nervously.

He doesn’t know what he wants the binary code to say.

* * *

Like every basic bitch who knows how to use a computer and spell in binary code, Bernie has translated his own name into binary code. He has it scrawled in a notebook where he keeps track of what he does online, especially when it comes to moving money. Maybe he’s an asshole for checking that first, but when he steps in front of the night club, his palms are sweating and he’s telling himself not to think too much about it.

Actually, what he’s telling himself is to  _ lie. _

9 is waiting just inside the door for him as it turns out, raising an eyebrow at him, his hairstyle stranger this evening. “You look like you’ve got bad news there, Bernie.”

“Where’s Pearl?” Bernie asks, scanning the interior of the crowd. It’s  _ massive _ and he can’t see that familiar blond hair anymore. “Figured I’d tell him what it said first and foremost.”

The snort his words receive has him scowling. “What? You and I both know what it says.”

“What does it say, then?” Bernie asks.

“Don’t you know?” 9 eyes his forearm, bare now because he wore a t-shirt knowing damn well the club would be too hot for proper sleeves. He was right; the interior is  _ sweltering. _ “Look, I’m not a genius here but a dude good with computers and a microphone on his arm? Sounds like you’re hooked up with my boy and his dumb computer tattoo.”

Bernie rolls his eyes. “Guess you  _ don’t _ know what it says after all.”

“You’re a bad liar.” 9 puts a hand on his shoulder and Bernie frowns at him. “Look, ain’t no reason to run away from it. I’ve seen what happens when people try, and sometimes it works, but sometimes people just end up miserable. You got a thing for him already, I ain’t blind. Think that boyfriend comment slipped my attention, homie?”

“Maybe I’m not subtle,” Bernie admits slowly.

9 sighs at him. “Pearl’s a dipshit, so he didn’t notice. If you got a crush on him, good for you, ‘cause he’s already halfway to puppy love over the  _ cute music shop clerk with the big brown eyes _ so there ya go. But if you’re ditching him because of a tattoo, just fuck off now.”

“You don’t want me to hurt him.” Bernie drags a hand down his face. “I don’t  _ want _ to.”

“Then just be honest. No need to lie. By the way.” 9 spins Bernie around, points at the bar where he  _ finally _ sees Pearl’s fluffy blond hair. “That dude’s flirting with him, so if you don’t want to end up tossed, you better go break that shit up.”

Bernie makes a beeline for the bar, not stopping to see if 9 is following him; Pearl sees him coming through the crowd and turns away from the man he’s been talking to with that familiar smile stretched across his entire face. Not even sparing a glance to the man at his side, Bernie sidles up next to Pearl and tries, as nonchalantly as possible, to drape an arm over his shoulders. He’s in a tank top tonight and his arms look so nice, his shoulders begging for Bernie to rest his head on them. The guy looks between the two of them before slipping off of his stool and leaving, and Bernie counts that as a shallow but still true victory.

“Bern, you made it. I’m glad, man.” Pearl’s arm slips around his waist and Bernie hums, leaning into the touch. “You gonna DJ for us, then? I’m so excited to hear you spin.”

“You know it. I came all the way here just for you.” Bernie winks at him and might be imagining the way Pearl’s cheeks pink when he turns his head away, shaking it and laughing.

The booth they offer him is well-equipped at least and Bernie makes quick changes while Pearl and 9 take the stage, Pearl hyping up the crowd through the microphone. For just a moment Bernie watches him, totally in his element, a different person to the man who walked into the shop a week ago and thinks, distantly, he might get  _ why _ the microphone, then.

Incidentally, Bernie is a professional at this, as well. He gets a kick out of listening to Pearl and 9 work around him and tries to work with them in turn, and he thinks what comes out is pretty good. The crowd nod along with everything the two rappers throw at them and Bernie whistles a few times, the rhymes and rhythm always on point. It’s clear to him that this is something the two of them are clearly passionate about, their art. By the time they’re done with their set, Bernie is impressed enough with Pearl in particular to be even more turned on than he already was.

Pearl buys them drinks at the bar and Bernie sidles up next to him as close as he can, their thighs pressed together. “Man, that was  _ fire. _ You gotta spin with us more often.”

“I’m not an exclusive talent so I  _ guess _ I could swing that.” Bernie cracks their glasses together before taking a drink, relishing the cold alcohol in the hot club. “You were pretty great up there yourself. You were  _ serious _ about being a rapper, huh?”

“I am! Man…” Pearl turns his hand over, slaps the front of his forearm. “Whoever this is better be into it ‘cause I’m not gonna drop it for anyone. You got any leads yet?”

Bernie wonders if 9 might have  _ told _ Pearl to mention it to him when the three of them were separated. “Yeah, actually.” He shoves a hand into the back pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans and slaps the note paper from last night on the bar. “There’s your answer.”

Pearl considers the piece of paper, still folded up, then shoves it across the bar so it falls off of the surface without opening it. “Cool deal. I don’t care.”

Bernie blinks at him. “What?”

“Guess I thought I’d care more than I did, but…” Pearl spins around on his stool, his knees butting against Bernie’s thigh. “But you’re cute and I’d rather get to know you than give a shit about the universe’s plan for me or whatever. Sorry for asking you to look at it for me, man, but if you’re into me, then—”

“Oh, I’m into you.” Bernie can file the information away for later. If Pearl wants to know at a later date in time, Bernie can tell him. Until then… “I definitely want to get to know you.”

Pearl gives him that megawatt smile and leans in so close that Bernie can feel the warmth of his breath. “Then can we kiss now? ‘Cause I’m kinda dying for it.”

Bernie leans in to kiss him and they both taste like beer, the club is too hot and Pearl’s nose kinda bumps against his before they get their lips lined up properly. But Pearl giggles a little bit against his mouth and leans into him enough that Bernie feels like he can just wrap his arms around him without it being weird. It’s pretty much perfect.

And he doesn’t have to  _ necessarily _ believe in soulmates to believe in this.


End file.
